I found myself on a graffitied street with thugs who stole my friend's random blue bag that I held in my arms. I was searching for something, a person I think, and I couldn't find her. I went to my flute teacher and her husband and asked if they had seen her, or knew how to get to Broad and Ontario, because I couldn't find it. They gave me directions, and I walked down a tunnel to find the street. I passed old creepy construction guys who sang, Van Halen's, "Hot For Teacher" as I carried giant textbooks in my hands. I wryly smiled and passed by them quickly.

I woke up to the sound of gunfire down my street.

Prophetic dream? Not sure. However, I do know that the 7-11 down my corner got knocked over at 6 a.m. this morning. I thought I was back in North Philly, but no, I was at home.

Happy fucking Easter from my ghetto to yours.